


To Forgive

by CaktusJuice (masqueOFmacabre)



Series: The Hideaway [2]
Category: Don't Starve (Video Game)
Genre: Angst, Dark Fantasy, Emotional Baggage, Enemies to Lovers, Fluff, Fluff and Angst, M/M, Max isn't as bad as he seems, Strong Language, Temporary Character Death, Wilson has some serious issues he needs to work out, mentions of past temporary death, murderous tendency
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-01-19
Updated: 2017-06-28
Packaged: 2018-09-18 16:20:25
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 19
Words: 19,851
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9393401
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/masqueOFmacabre/pseuds/CaktusJuice
Summary: Wilson P. Higgsbury is not in the least bit charmed by the previous GM who stands before him. He is sickened by all the pain that has been caused to him and his detest seems unfaltering. How in the world could he let himself fall for someone who has done such terrible things?Maxwell is ready to make amends. He can't defend what he has done because it was wrong, he's always known it was wrong, but he is going to try and be better. No matter how he has to do it he will make amends in whatever way he can.





	1. The Fire in His Pit

**Author's Note:**

  * For [VescenBubbles](https://archiveofourown.org/users/VescenBubbles/gifts), [junkiedoodledandy](https://archiveofourown.org/users/junkiedoodledandy/gifts).



> NOTICE  
> COVER ART BY JUNKIEDOODLEDANDY ON TUMBLR.  
> THIS PIECE WAS MADE TO BE USED AS THE COVER OF THIS STORY, PLEASE DO NOT REPOST OR REDISTRIBUTE IT WITHOUT THE ARTISTS PERMISSION. DISTRIBUTION IS RESERVED FOR THE ARTIST AND THOSE GRANTED SPECIAL PERMISSION FROM THE ARTIST TO USE HIS THIS PIECE.

A grudge is a terrible thing to harbor. It will eat you alive and tear you apart from the inside outward. It will turn your heart to rot and make your stomach sour. It is something that will keep you up at night seething with utter detest. There is no rest for those that hold grudges. And in Wilson P. Higgsbury's case, it was the thing that kept him alive.

There was a festering rottenness that made him push onward. It made him wish to defy all that this world threw at him. It drove him to conquer the obstacles that were shoved in his path. It made him want to prove Maxwell Carter WRONG!

And yet - by some ironic turn of events - here he sat, with Maxwell seated across from him in the dirt, illuminated by the glow of a fire without a pit.

"Don't look at me that way," Maxwell glared back. "It isn't as though I can help the situation that we're in."

"You could have prevented it," Wilson spat back, venom in his voice.

There was silence between them. Wilson didn't want to speak to him, he didn't have anything he could say that he hadn't said a thousand times before. Not a kind word had he in regards to this man. So he sat glaring with the heat of a sun, his eyes trying to burn holes into the magician. It was as though he believed if he stared long enough, lasers might shoot from his pupils and leave a smoldering pile of soot and bone where Maxwell used to be.

This of course, never happened.

"That is no way to look at the man who just saved your life," Maxwell tried again.

Wilson felt shame, if only a bit, and looked down at the stitches the man had given to him. They ran the length of his forearm. He'd had a close call with a Tall Bird. He thought the thing had died, having not seen it anywhere nearby, but the eyeball with legs had just been napping behind a bush, rather than near its nest like it should.

Beyond the stitches Maxwell had put honey poultice upon his minor abrasions, patching him up rather expertly as it were. Wilson would have almost put his bets on Max's previous occupation being a doctor. But then, what kind of doctor dabbled in sorcery?

"Saving my life once does not make up for the countless amount of times you've put it in danger, and -by extension- ended it," Wilson sneered.

"Your lack of gratitude to my hospitality is most unbecoming for someone who claims to be a gentleman."

Wilson's glare deepened.

He could not argue this point with Maxwell, for it was true that he was behaving in a most unfitting way, but he found he couldn't help himself and he cursed in his mind at himself for his ill behavior.

What had this world made of him, that he couldn't even put aside a grudge long enough to thank this man, who had fended off a tall bird and bandaged his wounds appropriately? But then he remembered as well he could - though some incarnations were fuzzy, and others he was certain were gone completely - that this man was the root of his pain and that he wouldn't even be in this situation to begin with if not for Maxwell. And this made Wilson's gut burn with hatred.

Sighing at Higgsbury's refusal to lighten his harsh expression even in the slightest, Maxwell produced from his pocket a handful of carrots and offered them to Wilson.

"Are they poisoned?" Wilson asked, his brow knitting in skeptical detest.

"That's rich, Higgsbury. What reason have I to poison you?"

Wilson sneered.

With a roll of his eyes - that Wilson found unbearably irritating - Maxwell broke one of the vegetables in half and brought it to his mouth taking a bite, chewing thoroughly and then swallowing. He smirked at Wilson with a matter-of-fact grin that he wore so often in those early days when he ruled over the game board, the one that made Wilson's hairs stand on end and his stomach burn with abhorrence.

Reaching out the scientist snatched the food from the man's hand with a rough tug and he began to eat.

Max nodded his head approvingly, which only made Wilson's anger with him Grow. Who did this man think he was, acting as though Wilson needed or even wanted his approval for any reason?

Even still the inventor finished his food and gazed into the fire, watching it pop and dance against the dark of night.

"You should sleep, you must be very tired," Max said.

"You're fooling yourself if you think I am stupid enough to go to sleep anywhere near you," Wilson spat.

"And why do you say this?"

"Because I don't trust you."

There was a long silence. The two sat staring over the flames at each other. Wilson's fists curled like the loathing in his gut.

"Very well, suit yourself," The once-king scoffed. "I'm going to sleep."

And he laid down to do just that.

Wilson pulled his knees close to his chest and watched the fire burn.

He imagined strangling the man sleeping only a yard away. He could practically feel the mans throat in his hands, the pulse becoming faint under his palms, his breath wheezing out its last. It was so odd, but it seemed almost like a memory.

After a time however he felt his eyes becoming heavy. He shook his head hard to keep himself awake. He pinched his arms and bit his tongue, and rubbed his eyes and slapped his cheeks.

Nonetheless Wilson found himself laying down and resigning to slumber for the night.


	2. Collide and Cooperate

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Wilson is not particularly appreciative of Max's persistence.

Morning was chilled and foggy. Wilson, despite having stayed up longer than the man across from him, was the first to wake. It was his internal clock. Early to bed and early to rise. And early to rise even when he'd had no more than a few hours of sleep, which only proved to make the dim morning light summon forth a pounding headache. 

With a hiss he rubbed his head and squeezed near his temples to release some pressure. Rising from his spot he could look over the logs of the fire that were now only aglow with heat that remained. He stepped forward and warmed his hands over it, trying not to think of the cold hearted man beyond it. 

His fists tensed and - as though sensing his anger - Max stirred from his sleep and sat up. 

There was a silence between the two when they locked eyes. Then Max slowly lifted himself from the ground, and one could hear his joints pop and crack with his age. He hissed in pain and rolled his shoulders, both popped into place, and when he stepped over to pick up his backpack his knees and hips popped accordingly. 

Wilson felt his brow crinkle in displeasure at the sight of the demon awake. 

"If you keep looking at me with such awful expressions you will have wrinkles far sooner than I ever did," Max tried, not even bothering to look at the scientist but knowing despite it that he was being stared down. " Is it really necessary to look at me with such detest this early in the morning? Can we perhaps save your pettiness for after breakfast." 

"Pettiness, is that what you call it?" Wilson spat, his fingers tensing and hands trembling with anger. "After all you have done to me don't you think that - perhaps, just maybe - I have some liable reason for being a little, as you say, petty?" 

These pauses of tension between the two were becoming awfully common. Maxwell's jaw tensed and his ice blue eyes locked on Higgsbury with a frightening judgement. The expression softened moments later and Max cleared his throat. 

"Perhaps you do." 

Wilson opened his mouth, ready to argue but found the other had given him no reason to bite at him. This stunned him for a moment and he choked, made a peeping sound, stumbled on his stance slightly, and then huffed. 

"Right! I do," he hissed through gritted teeth. 

Max watched Wilson a moment longer and exhaled slowly through his nose. 

"Very well, come on then," Maxwell instructed, adjusting his pack and walking onward. 

"Come on then? Come ON then?" 

No, this was not happening. He would not be forced to travel with this man. He would not be forced to rely on him. He wouldn't stand for it. How could he even trust someone who had been the cause of everything that had happened from the very start? 

"Yes, come on. We are heading farther south." 

"No." 

"No?" 

Max's brow quirked and Wilson stood firmly. 

"No. You don't want to travel with me, and I sure as hell don't want to travel with you," when Higgsbury said this Maxwell's jaw tensed. Wilson felt a chill of worry wash over him. Nonetheless he cleared his throat and continued. "So, just give me some bandages and medicine, maybe some food. It will save both of us a lot of frustrations and I'll never have to see you again." 

"That isn't very good problem solving." 

"It solves my problems." 

"How generous of you, Higgsbury," Maxwell licked his lips and stepped toward him till he was face to face with the other. "I have Tell-tale Hearts in my possession." 

"What is that?" Wilson asked, his brow unwinding just the slightest amount.

"It's a very special potion. It was something I talked about with Charlie a long time ago. She must have liked the idea, because it seems she's implemented it into her little game." 

"Charlie?" The smaller inquired. Max didn't answer and Wilson tried to take a different approach. "What does it do?" 

"It can revive a player?" 

Wilson was becoming quite irritated with the constant use of the word 'game'. It felt degrading, dehumanizing. 

"Revive? You mean to say this can bring someone back from the dead." 

"Yes." 

"Then give me one and I'll be off on my own." 

"It can only be used by a living player on someone who has recently passed." 

There was anger bubbling in him again. This was Max's plan was it? 

"So you are using me in case you can't survive in this hell you've made?" 

"Is that why you believe I invited you. Listen here, Higgsbury," Max hissed, becoming more than irritated with Wilson's refusal to cooperate. "In this place it takes more than one to survive. Do you understand me? I was thinking I could watch your back, and you could watch mine?" 

"But this is your creation, Maxwell? Shouldn't you know your own monsters well enough that they won't come at you, or are they as expendable as I am? Just something to throw away at the end of the day?" 

Wilson could see the man's jaw tense again, the tendon in his neck poked out from beneath his skin. He blinked and the Adam's apple in his throat bobbed with a hard swallow. Maxwell's glass blue eyes looked away for a moment and he straightened himself up. 

"You're making an assumption that this is still my kingdom, Higgsbury." 

"What do you mean?" 

"This is not my game board." 

"What does that mean?" 

He received no answer. 

Maxwell turned on his heel and started southward again, adjusting the back pack as he went. 

"Come on then." 

Wilson could do nothing but throw his hands into the air with exasperation. How could this man be so unbelievably stubborn? How did he sleep at night? 

"Fine, but only because you have food and medicine." 

And with that Wilson shuffled angrily after the fallen mastermind.


	3. Remember This

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Maxwell must let Wilson know he still has some sort of control.

Maxwell seethed at the man standing closely pressed to him under the cover of a pine tree. Over the rush of rain against the ground he could hear Wilson's wild howls of laughter, and it brought heat to his cheeks and an unpleasant scowl to his face. He resisted all urges to reach his hand up and promptly slap the laughter right out of the scientist. 

"Higgsbury, stop this instant! It isn't that funny," Max spat. 

Wilson only howled to the sky with more chortles and snorts. His eyes were dripping and Max wasn't entirely sure if it was the rain or tears from the joy he received from mocking him. 

"Not that funny?" He snorted and howled again, tossing his head back. "It's hilarious." 

Much to the entertainment of Wilson he had come to find - by being in such close proximity to the other when hiding from the elements - that Max was only about a head taller than him in reality. And this amusement only furthered when he had stood on his tiptoes and found that on them he was even taller than Max. 

"Were you really trying to intimidate me so much, that you altered your height just to do so?" The inventor choked through his guffaw. 

"If I say yes will you finally close your lips and stop your incessant snickering?" 

Wilson stopped for only a moment to look at Maxwell. His expression as stern for a moment as it could be. Only a moment did this last and soon his lips were twitching again trying to fight a smile. As it would have it Higgsbury had absolutely no control at all, and a split second later he was cackling again. 

Maxwell raised a hand and balled it into a fist before promptly bringing it down on top of the other's skull with a punishing force. Wilson wobbled where he stood, his eyes wide with shock and he shook his head to regain his composure. The look of delight on his face previously was replaced with a frightful glower. 

He lifted his hand and struck the magician across the jaw with a force that caused his head to turn. 

"Do not ever lay your hands on me again!" Wilson growled in warning, pointing an accusing finger at the man. 

Maxwell stood still a moment, instantly filled with guilt for having struck the other. 

"I deserved that," he grunted below his breath. 

Wilson however had not heard this, because he was focusing on something else. He had reached his hand from beneath the cover of the pines to feel the air. 

"Has it stopped raining?" 

"It looks so," Maxwell said, still rubbing his cheek where he had been struck. 

With that stated he picked up his bag and a spear he had found and moved from under the cover of the tree. The ground was muddy and made slurping sounds while he stepped. He didn't even want to think about what that was going to do to his boots. 

"So now that you've slapped the piss out of me are we even?" 

"Hardly, I'm still infuriated at you," Wilson responded without a moments pause. Maxwell shrugged. What could he do? 

"We've been traveling together for how long now?" he asked, looking to Wilson as they resumed their walking. 

"I'm guestimating about a little less than a month."

"And you still can't trust or at least forgive me?" 

"Would you?" 

Max thought about it a moment with a quirked brow. Wilson had a knack for answering his questions with more questions. These questions really forced him to look at himself and most of the time he didn't like what he saw. 

"No." 

"Well there you have it then." 

"But I'm not the same as I was then, Higgsbury. Can't you see that?" Max sighed, bringing his fingers to his temples to rub away the tension ache forming. 

Maxwell stopped walking for the moment and Wilson turned, taking steps backwards to look at him. His hands raised in silent question to prompt why the other wasn't continuing. 

"Can't you see that?" Max asked again. 

Wilson halted. 

"Maxwell, all I see when I look at you is the man who ruined my life! He's the man who took all of my hard work and let it pour down the drain! He's the man who is the reason I am never going to reach my goal, and I loath you for that!" 

Max stared at the smaller man. How did such a small human carry such great hatred without exploding? Wilson P. Higgsbury was an enigma. One that Maxwell could not even begin to fathom. If it were him carrying so much detest he would have killed the source of it a long time ago. Then again, hadn't Wilson? 

"Wilson?" 

"What?" 

"You're standing on a spider web." 

Maxwell couldn't help but smirk when Wilson's eyes looked down to find he was indeed on the web, and pretty far in. The moment he tried to move the web stuck and vibrated, sending a message to the spiders within the den and summoning them forth with terrible hisses. 

Three black spiders shuffled forth baring their fangs and rushing at Wilson. The scientist sprung up, trying to untangle his feet from the strands of webbing. Maxwell was there in a moment and wrapped his hands about the small man's waist, pulling him harshly out of the sticky mat. The hand and struck the first beast across the face with the spear, enough to stun it and pull Wilson quickly away from the others and out of their sight. 

Luckily spiders were not such a worry, not when they were just black ones like the three were. It was the big nests that one had to worry about. They banana back warrior's and the spider queen were of worse tier than the young ones. 

Nonetheless Wilson's breathing was hard, and he swallowed thickly, panting and looking up wide eyed to Max who looked back at him with a stern face. 

"Are you alright?" 

"Yes I-... thank you," Wilson breathed. 

"You're welcome," the magician nodded, then releasing the other man. "Though after how much you made fun of me moments ago and with how rude you have been over the past month I could have just let you die. But I didn't, now did I? I want you to remember that."

Wilson stared dumbfounded at Maxwell, who felt a pride that the other understood exactly what he'd been saying, and Max turned on his heel. 

"Come on, we haven't found a good place to stop yet. We probably won't for a while. I want to find the perfect spot." 

For a while there was only the sound of Max's own footsteps, but it wasn't long until he could hear Higgsbury's following quickly behind him. 

He smiled cockily to himself.


	4. What Goes Around

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Wilson is not as sin free as you believe.

The sound of something walking behind Maxwell made him jump, and quickly he turned to shine his torch upon it, illuminating the face of a very stern looking Wilson Higgsbury. He wore a suit much like the one Maxwell had worn when he was the GM, and he was furious to find that it suited Higgsbury just as well -if not more- as it did him. The inventor's hair was waving in parts it usually curled. His stance was tall and proud, with none of the fear he usually held when approaching Maxwell.

"Higgsbury," Maxwell had breathed, placing a hand over his heart to calm it. He was too old for these surprises.

Wilson laced his fingers together and his lips curled wickedly into a wide and terrifying smirk. It bared his teeth and his brow knitted in a way that made him appear devilish.

"Say Chap," Wilson hissed, his lips pushing together thinly with a mocking smirk. "You don't look so good."

Maxwell's eyes closed and he turned his sights away from the GM. He sighed through his nose and tried to remember how many times he'd used the same line on Wilson. How many times had he mocked him? How many times had he been so disgusting to stand there and take pleasure in the scientist's pain?

"Higgsbury, there's no food. I've checked everywhere. No beehives, no carrots, no berries, not a mushroom in sight."

"I know, not an animal for miles," Wilson smirked, his white teeth shimmering in the light of the torch. "I made sure to make this board especially for you, Maxwell."

"You're going to starve me! Really? Starve me?" Maxwell cried, panic rushing to fill his chest. Wilson only smirked at this reaction. "This isn't how the game is played, Higgsbury!"

Wilson laughed darkly, tilting his head back and then humming as it lulled -in a fashion entirely not human- to the side. His smirk was devious and it seemed to pull wider with every passing second.

"You don't get to write the rules of the game anymore, Maxy boy. I do. Now I understand why you felt you could throw people around. Now I understand why the throne is so wonderful. Because I can do whatever I want, and you can't stop me! And now, I can make you pay for all the times you squeezed the life out of me."

Max bit the inside of his lower lip, trying to keep it from trembling. He felt all the guilt he should have felt ages ago flood into him. He knew he had wronged Higgsbury. He knew he deserved to be killed over and over again by Higgsbury's hand. He wished he could accept that but only a few words was he able to form on his tongue.

"But I, I never let you starve! I did horrible things to you, but I never ever let you starve."

Wilson's smile was instantly gone. He glared at Maxwell with an unsettling stern guise.

"No, I guess you didn't did you?" But this was all he offered before stepping back into the darkness. Though Maxwell reached out into it to grasp at him Wilson had already vanished.

Huddling close to a tree Maxwell settled his torch between his knees and tried to close his eyes and sleep. When he woke there was food next to him on a clean cloth. He sighed, knowing he hadn't deserved this kindness from Higgsbury. The scientist was a gentleman who wouldn't dare hurt him in a way hat wasn't justified.

Every morning there was food for him, and every morning he ate knowing who had brought it for him. And in the end of his play it was the insanity of being absolutely alone that killed him. The creatures tore him apart and he couldn't say he hadn't deserved that, because countless times he had offed Higgsbury in this fashion.

When he woke again there was much more food. Plenty of beehives to make bee boxes of, plenty of spiders to farm silk, birds to get eggs from, and rabbits for morsels.

It was when he tried to burn part of the forest to gather charcoal that Wilson became furious with him.

That night he was awoke by the sound of Higgsbury's boots scuffing the ground near his head. Then he felt weight on his waist and he opened his eyes to see Wilson, illuminated by the dim light of his dying fire, straddling his lap. He was unsure what the other was planning on doing until he felt the inhuman slender fingers clamp around his neck. The sharp thumbs pushed into his jugular, crushing his Adams Apple.

He could feel his airways closing from being crushed flat under the grip. His instincts told him to fight, and he tried to throw Higgsbury from him. He tried to claw at the inventor's wrists. He tried to kick his legs to cause the other to dismount.

Wilson only squeezed harder, pulled Maxwell's head up by the neck, and pushed him back down with a force that slammed his head hard into the earth. Maxwell saw the world shudder and could feel his lungs slowly collapsing. Over the sound of his own blood rushing in his ears he could hear the hysterical laughter of the crazed Higgsbury above him. And the world slowly shifted from red to black.

The last of his breath rushed into his chest and he managed to choke out a series of sounds.

"Good man, Higgsbury," he praised. And Wilson sneered and cracked Max's head on the ground again.

Then the life left him.

* * *

 

Covered in sweat and panting was he when he woke. Max wiped his brow with his forearm and he swallowed hard. He was shaking and shuddering. His breathing was labored and he could hardly find the strength to stand. Once up his legs were wobbly and threatening to give. He moved with nervous quickness around the fire pit.

A man slept there, in a white sleeved shirt with the sleeves rolled above his elbows. His torso was covered with a red vest. Upon his head he wore a flower crown. Upon his jaw was the beginning of stubble.

Max found himself calmed by the sight of him. This was Wilson. This was Wilson and he was the same man he had been before the throne had corrupted him. He was free of it, and Max felt comfort in this.

But try as he might he could not find sleep again. The dreams were reminders, and the memory was too sickening.


	5. Kitchen Science

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Wilson tells Max a bit about himself.

Wilson still had not become particularly friendly with Maxwell. The glaring had stopped and the yelling was not as often as it had been. Even his snide remarks had subsided. The words that passed between the two of them were only what was needed to survive. Sometimes Maxwell would try to make small talk, but more often than not Wilson would just ignore him.

"Nice weather we're having," he would say, and Wilson would never reply.

"How is dinner?" he might try another time, and the scientist would simply stuff his face with more food. It was a rather nifty way to get out of conversation since 'a gentleman should never talk with his mouth full'.

Whatever they had become could not be considered friendly, but it could be considered cooperative. And cooperation was at least enough to keep them alive till winter. They gathered more food and ate when they needed, and if one needed more after the other was full then the remains were offered over.

Maxwell wanted to have the benefit of the doubt and consider this progress. It was likely, however, that Wilson did not particularly feel the same way.

The morning well into the afternoon had been rainy, and the two had huddled on their separate sides of the fire to dry off. Max had taken it upon himself to make dinner, as was usual, and he offered it to Wilson, who took it quietly and began to eat.

"How is dinner?" Max asked, his own large meat held in his hands.

Wilson chewed, and Max wasn't expecting him to answer at all. After a moment the scientist swallowed and lifted his head to exhale slowly. His brown eyes were glistening with thought.

"Well, it certainly beats my wife's cooking that much is certain."

Maxwell was shocked firstly by the realization that the other had answered him at all. Secondly came a wave of interest that had been piqued by the statement itself. This was something he had not known about the scientist.

"You have a wife?"

"Had a wife," he said flatly. He then lowered his food and gave a sort of frustrated peeping sound. "I thought you already knew all of this. I told you about this when we first met."

"Did you?" Max said, raising his own food to his lips and taking a bite. He swallowed and licked his full lips. "You will have to forgive me, Higgsbury. A few places in my memory are spotty. I suppose it is my age getting the better of me."

Wilson didn't speak and there was a long silence following dinner. The two nestled down to sleep once the dark had settled. The soft winds brushed through the pines and shook them softly. A catcoon could be heard meowling in the distance. Max would hear shifting from where Higgsbury lay and then a heavy sigh came from the man.

"Her name was Winnie. We met at university. She was a smart woman, never did let the men tell her she couldn't become a scientist. 'Science is for men,' they would say, and she would scoff at them and flip her hair. She had beautiful red hair. She was head strong. We had just barely begun making a family when she passed away. That was two, three years ago? Who knows, I don't even know how long I've really been here."

There was a moment of silence before Wilson spoke again.

"Winnie lived a good life while she was with me. The sweet woman could do anything she put her mind to."

"Except cook?" Max asked. There was no reply and for a moment he thought he had messed up. It was a simple witty comment that had come to his mind and he'd said it before he had thought it through. His brow knitted together and he grit his teeth. He had messed this up!

"That was something she was horrible at," he then heard Wilson say. In the darkness came a groan and what sounded like Higgsbury rolling over. "Her left overs were stale the day after, the science of the kitchen was one she was not gifted with in the least."

There was a tension, and then laughing between the two of them that filled the night. The howling of their chortling seemed to go on for half an hour or more before they sighed and got comfortable once more. Then Wilson broke the quiet with a question he had asked only once before, one Max had failed to answer.

"Who's Charlie?"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am sorry this took so long to update. I was recently in a car wreck and needed a few days to gather myself. I am okay, no damage done (except to the car). I was mostly just shaken. Thank you all for your patience.


	6. Carter

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Maxwell is ready to talk, Wilson is ready to listen.

The smell of cotton candy and funnel cakes filled the air, an ever present scent of elephant ears wafting into the small cart the magician had come to call home. He hunched over a mysterious book and let himself become entrapped in its pages. The text was odd and foreign to him, and he had to study it over and over until finally he could read it. Such an odd book it was, but the young fellow seemed quite drawn to it. Whatever secrets it held beckoned him.

His walls were scrawled with his messy writing, each sentence half finished and relaying unsettling imagery that had been plaguing him. The shadows were consuming his dreams, and -he feared- part of his sanity. Even in broad daylight, from the corner of his eye he swore he could see them. The terrible snakelike creatures with their toothy beaks.

His leg bounced nervously while he read.

It was a knock on the cart door that broke his concentration and he leaped nervously from his seat, clattering backwards into his desk. His hand pressed to his chest to still his racing heart and he swallowed, closing his eyes and breathing out slowly.

Just a knock.

He straightened his collar and slicked his hair back to appear somewhat presentable. After pushing his thick glasses up upon his nose he crossed the short distance to open the door.

"William," the woman chimed brightly. "I was wondering if you would like to join me for breakfast before the show."

She pushed a strand of black hair behind her ear and his eyes caught glimpse of the silver ring on the forth finger of her left hand. He felt calmed by the sight of it and his shoulders relaxed. This was his Charlotte, his trusted assistant, his fiancee.

"Charlie," he breathed in relief. "I thought you were...someone else?"

"Who else would I be?"

His mouth opened to speak but no words would come. There was no easy way to say what he must.

"Never mind that then," he swished his hand about to dismiss it. "Breakfast sounds wonderful."

He forced a smile.

The show must go on.

* * *

 

Silence was all that was shared between the two through the day. The only sound was the crunching of leaves beneath their feet as they followed a stone pathway. It likely lead to nowhere, both of them were aware of this. It was simply something to do, something that kept them moving forward.

In the end that was the most they could hope for, a reason to keep moving forward.

Having come upon a pig village in early afternoon when all the pigmen had shuffled into their fancy little houses that Wilson envied so much, the two of them quietly slipped into the berry gardens and carrot patches behind the houses and picked them clean. Then as hushed as a mouse they sneaked back to the main road without alerting anyone to their crime.

And yet not a word had been shared since the moment they woke.

There was a silence that hung between them. A silence so thick with tension it could he cut with a knife. Wilson could feel the weight of it on his back and he knew it must be because of the question he had asked the night previous. Maxwell had not offered him question of the foods quality as he had in the days previous and this was enough to cause concern in Wilson, but he did not push the matter.

As dusk turned to dark Maxwell lit the nightly fire and roasted the berries and carrots over it. They ate in muteness and made not a peep. And after they had finished eating they stared into the fire with unsettling grimness that gripped at Wilson's stomach and squeezed it uncomfortably.

"I think I am ready to talk about her now."

Wilson's head lifted slowly and his big brown eyes blinked in shock.

"About Charlie. I am ready to talk about her."

And Wilson nodded and Maxwell began to tell his story, starting with the moment he found the book till the moment they came to the World of Them and what had happened to Charlie. And Wilson hung on to every word, hoping to find some understanding about why Maxwell was how he was.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry this one took so long. I kept getting distracted by the game itself.


	7. If Pity You Must Give

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Pity is better than nothing, a crown of thorns isn't fit for a king.

Maxwell walked with a slight limp. It was his age, surely. Wilson was quiet as he examined it, trailing behind the other man like a beast follows its master. After everything he had learned -about Charlie, and Jackson Carter, and the carriage crash, and Grue, and the book known as the Codex Umbra- he had become almost understanding of Maxwell's behavior. He almost wanted to forgive him. 

He wasn't sure he was quite ready to take that step yet but cooperation, kindness, those were things he could give. 

When Max stumbled Wilson stepped forward to catch him. When Max was tired at the end of the day Wilson offered to cook. And When Wilson had found a walking stick -which he scavenged from a failed survivor- he had given it to Max without a second thought. 

"I remember this," Max had breathed at the sight of it, but not much more was said than that and he took it in his hand and seemed comforted. 

"The throne, what was being on it like?" Wilson asked. 

"You don't know?" The shock in Maxwell's voice was evident, though the scientist was unsure as to why. He simply shrugged and waited for Max to speak. "It felt wonderful, and awful, and empowering, and sickening. I am not proud of my reign." 

Wilson did not press further. 

"You've been uncharacteristically kind with me these past few days." 

Wilson lifted his head and his lips curled inward. He nodded his head and cleared his throat. 

"Admittedly I feel...sorry? I don't exactly know how to explain it, Max. Pity, maybe?" 

"Is pity all you can muster to give me?" 

"Max, I'm so-"

"No," Max raised a hand to stop the other from speaking anymore. "Don't apologize. If pity is all I am worthy of then I will take it. A beggar cannot be a chooser in matters like this." 

Wilson's lips curled again and he breathed deeply through his nose, squaring his shoulders and nodding his head in finality. 

The two walked quietly and with a deep breath to calm his nerves Wilson picked up his   
pace to walk next to Maxwell, rather than behind him as he had been for so long. Max was not unaware of the man next to him, and though he didn't look over at Wilson the scientist knew this, because Max huffed softly through his nose and tilted his head down to smile at the ground. 

The two looked ahead, only stopping when they came to a meadow so that Wilson could pick flowers. He picked until his pockets were full of them while Max set up camp and as night fell the two gathered at the fire. For the first time they sat on the same side and Max took two morsels he had found and skewered then on sticks, then he handed one to Wilson. 

The two of them prepared their food over the open flame and ate quietly, but quietly together. Though there was an awkward aura around them the heir of tension was gone and both could relax a little more without worry. 

Max opened his book to read and Wilson began to weave flowers. His slender fingers now calloused from the hard labor of survival, not meant for a gentleman like himself, worked in more therapeutic ways to weave a crown of petals. He did not don it after finishing it, but rather set it aside and began a new one.

"Why do you do that?" Maxwell inquired, his brow lifted in question.

"I find it very relaxing." 

"I don't see why, it seems like frustrating work. I never could get them to stay together." 

"Well you're in luck. I've made one for you as well. You like roses, yes?" 

And with that Wilson lifted the second crown which was made of only of thorn flowers and for the first time Max noticed the blood from the needle like pricks on Wilson's fingers. 

"Wilson! Your hands!" 

"I de-thorned them so they wouldn't cut into your forehead or scalp." 

"You're bleeding!" 

Max was digging through his bag and Wilson watched almost dumbfounded at the concern the other was showing. 

"Max I am fine." 

The man was not listening and he pulled salve from the pack, reaching out to tug Wilson's hands to him, causing the scientist to choke with Shock. He poured water over Wilson's palms which caused him to hiss, and then he spread salve over the scrapes. 

"Wasting slave like this is quite unnecessary, Maxwell. I am fine." 

"Oh yes, you're fine Higgsbury, just fine until an infection kills you. Little scrapes are nothing to take lightly in these days." 

Wilson bit his lower lip, stayed silent for a moment, and then nodded his head. He watched quietly while the king bandaged his hands in wraps. After he was done Wilson examined the wraps, so carefully bound and he was shocked to remember now that the other had not been a doctor, but indeed was a failed magician. 

It boggled him. 

He rested his hands in his lap and twined his fingers together to watch the flame flicker. His cheeks felt strangely warm and he cleared his throat, his brown eyes glistening in the fire light as he turned his head to speak. 

"Do you like it though?" 

And Max's eyes trailed to the crown of roses and he lifted it into his hand. 

"I love it," He whispered. 

Raising it he set it onto his head and straightened it rightly. 

Then he smiled.


	8. Close and Personal

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> How about a shave? (I am so sorry! This is so self indulgent! Please forgive me!)

"And why should I?" 

"Because it's getting out of hand and it looks terrible. I am not saying to cut it all the way, just trim it. The least you could do is make it more presentable." 

"Present-ability is not something I am particularly worried about, Maxwell. In case you haven't noticed there is no one here who I would need to be presentable too." 

"Well I am here and I am plagued with the terrible curse of having to look at your ugly mug, so spare me and trim the damn beard would you?" 

"After you've insulted me? If you think I am so hideous then shouldn't the beard be an improvement?" 

"Well aren't we making assumptions. You could be quite handsome if you would maintain the darn thing." 

"I..." Wilson paused as something registered in his mind. His head tilted in a fashion not unlike a curious kitten and he blinked with shock. "You think I am handsome?" 

"Did I say that?" 

The scientist did not answer but sighed and reached to rub the back of his neck in thought. He supposed it didn't look very gentlemanly at all to share appearance with cavemen. He could afford to trim the excess inches if it would make him look quite handsome. 

For himself of course, not for Maxwell. He did have standards after all. But of course a thought crossed his mind and he pushed his fingers into the hair of his beard and scratched. 

"I have no razor, and even if i did it isn't as though I have a mirror to see the quality of my trim. " 

"I picked a razor off of a corpse a while back," Max offered. 

"My statement about the mirror still stands." 

Maxwell's eyes flickered with a thought as he and Higgsbury silently exchanged stares. He cleared his throat and licked his plump lower lip. He closed his eyes and sighed heavily enough that his shoulders rose and fell drastically. He could hardly believe he was entertaining this idea. 

"I will do it for you then." 

"I...what?" 

"I was no barber, but I have a very steady hand. I'm sure I am up to the task." 

"Your quality of trimming is not my concern, I am just..." 

"Just what?" 

Tension was between them again. Oh for the love of Them, how he wished the tension would cease. It was becoming tiresome. 

"I just don't really trust you getting so close to my face and neck with a razor." 

And there it was. Max scoffed and placed his fingers at his temples to rub away the forming headache. He couldn't believe the stubbornness that seemed to radiate in great amounts off the small scientist. It was a surprise Higgsbury didn't explode with all the negativity he had bottled in that teensy body of his. 

"I have not killed you yet, I have patched you up on multiple occasions now, and I have made sure you are fed. Believe me, Higgsbury, if I wanted you dead I could have done away with you a long time ago." 

He could see the discomfort at the statement, but he felt as though he'd gotten through to the gentleman.

"Very well, please be careful." 

Maxwell retrieved from his bag the straight razor he'd found and he approached the other then to sit down. Wilson sat still, his brown eyes following Maxwell while he lowered in front of him and the ice blue eyes met amber orbs, and as odd as it was Wilson felt as though he could sense honesty in the other. For the first time he felt as if he could trust him completely, and he relaxed. 

Maxwell leaned close, his eyes squinted, crinkling the crows feet of his eyes and Wilson could feel his breath - the smell of cherry cigars ever present upon it - against his own lips and his heart pounded nervously. His stomach curled in tandem with a shiver down his spine and he swallowed. All of these reactions occurred to him before a realization struck him and he placed a hand to Max's chest to halt him. 

"Wait, do you need glasses?" 

"How absurd, of course not. I can see just fine."

"Max!" 

"Wilson!" He snapped and the other stared wide eyed at him with fear. "I can see, just fine. Please, trust me." 

Wilson opened his mouth to speak but his jaw quivered with uncertainty. He exhaled slowly and nodded his head. 

"Alright. Okay, I trust you." 

"Thank you." 

Max's hand rested over Wilson's on his own chest and he gave it a reassuring squeeze before guiding it down back to Higgsbury's lap. Then he readied the razor and cleared his throat. 

"Now let's see here," He whispered, and he took the first strand and guided the sharp blade easily through it. 

Wilson's ears were burning and he could feel his hands beginning to sweat. They curled into nervous fists in his lap. 

Maxwell was not a bad looking man, especially when one considered his age. The wrinkles about his mouth and eyes made him seem dignified, as though he had earned each one, and as though each crease had a story. Wilson held his breath while he inspected each divot in the skin and the skin of Maxwell's forehead crumpled when he was truly focused. Wilson could feel his heart slam hard in his chest and he swallowed. 

Why was he feeling this way at all? It wasn't as though he found the man attractive. How could he after everything. He could find no scientific reason for these reaction, and so he dismissed it as the loneliness getting to him. Perhaps he'd even eaten something that hadn't quite agreed with his stomach and it was effecting his mind. Yes, it had to be some of those mushrooms from before. He was certain. 

Even still the feeling of Maxwell's fingers combing through his beard made the hairs of his arm stand on end, and it was all he had not to shiver at the awkward intimacy the act itself had. 

Max's eyes shifted up, crystal clear and glimmering in the twilight of the evening. He seemed to notice the way Wilson's jaw tensed and how his shoulders rose. 

"Are you alright?" 

"Yeah! Yeah, I'm fine," he breathed shakily. 

"Relax, I'm almost done." 

And he did, allowing the other to finish the trim and once it was done Maxwell reached over to rub the hair with his palm and rid it of any shaved strands that had stuck. Wilson could feel his cheeks warm. 

As Maxwell had turned to place the razor back in his bag, Wilson ran his hands over the facial hair to get a feel for the other's work. 

It felt even and much tamer than what it had been before. If the feeling was anything to go by then Maxwell had done quite the fine job, and Wilson found himself quite please. 

"There we are, a very presentable gentleman indeed," Max chided at his work. 

And Wilson had to agree with him.


	9. What's your story?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Getting to know each other.

The first frost bit their skin harshly and the puffs of their breath curled in the chill of the air. Their lips were not yet blue with cold but they chapped slightly and crinkled accordingly. Maxwell had hurried to scavenge supplies from the skeletal remains of failed survivors and returned to Wilson with slightly tattered wind vests and winter caps that fringed at the seems.

They were not the most charming of items and it was true that they might not last all winter, but something was better than nothing. Wilson accepted his with a grateful nod and donned them. Then he was warm while he gathered berries and carrots to be roasted over the fire for dinner.

"What made you want to become a scientist?"

Wilson lifts his head at the question. He hadn't been expecting it. Why would max want to talk about something that probably didn't interest him in the slightest? he licked his lips of carrot juice and cleared his throat.

"Are you asking because you're interested, or are you just trying to strike up conversation?"

"A little of both, perhaps," Maxwell replies.

Wilson hummed and leaned forward to rest his elbows on his knees. He thought a moment, not that it needed any thought, but he was unsure of where he should begin.

"My father was a goat farmer in England," he began.

"That explains your English accent," Max smirked, and Wilson huffed a tiny laugh before he continued.

"Farmers are not often respected in civilized society. They are thought of as uneducated country bumpkins. My father could neither read nor write, but he was fantastic at arithmetic and was good at bartering. But he was ridiculed so often by society that it was painful for me to watch. And I told him when I was very young that I wanted to have schooling, to become an upstanding member in society and he was so, so proud of me. So he saved up money and he sent me to university. I became fascinated with the sciences, any field really, but I loved chemistry more over, and of course I love to tinker and invent."

"When I met you it was while you were living in New England, how did that come about?"

"Job opportunities for both my wife and myself."

"Ah, I see," There was a pause and then Max cleared his throat. " How did you feel about your father? Were you ashamed of him? Is that part of the reason?"

"What? No, never. I just..." he trailed off a moment while he searched for the words. "I didn't want to be looked down on like he was. He was a gentle man and I loved him, but I could grow up being a farmer and a gentle man, or I could grow up being a respected gentleman. I chose the latter."

"Mnn," Max hummed in acknowledgement.

Wilson rubbed his hands together and stuck them out to warm them next to the flames of their fire.

"What about you? How did you become a magician?"

Maxwell stared wide eyed at the inventor and his brow crinkled, deepening the wrinkles cared into his brow that engraved his age upon his face. He sighed and his shoulders slumped. He breath through his nose, cleared his throat roughly and stared at the fire with a grave look.

Licking his lips he began.

"I had always had an interest in magic tricks. I loved the circus and reading books that had mystical stories to tell. I suppose it was natural for me to want to become a magician. My father was not as supporting as yours. Hmn, he was always comparing me to my brother. 'Why can't you be a doctor like Jack?' he would say. My mother however was quite supportive. A soft woman, I think too soft perhaps to tell me I was terrible at magic tricks. "

"You were bad at them?"

"I couldn't pull flowers from my sleeves if I tried."

Wilson snorted a bit and covered his mouth to try and stifle it.

"Please, don't laugh at me."

"I'm sorry, I'm not making fun of you, I promise. It's just that to think the great Maxwell was unable to do something as simple as that."

"I'd like to see you try."

"Touch'e."

The sound of the camp fire crackling filled the silence between them and every now and again one could hear the other sigh. The silence was broken by Max whose tone of voice had taken a serious nature.

"I have been thinking, Higgsbury. We should find a place to settle, just for the winter. The cold months are not a time to be wandering the woods aimlessly, it is a good way to freeze or starve."

Wilson nodded his head in understanding and pushed closer to Max to fend off the cold. Max blinked and wrapped slowly wrapped his arm around the scientist, who did indeed warm his old bones.

"Alright, tomorrow then. Night isn't exactly a good time to wander the woods either."

"Tomorrow."


	10. A Wooden Door

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> ...that splintered and hitched awkwardly.

The pine needles poked hard into their cheeks and scratched their faces uncomfortably. Even still Max pushed closer and closer to the trunk of the pine. His hand clasped over Wilson's mouth and he breathed rapidly against the shell of the scientists ear. He was unsure where his trembling ended and Wilson's began, but fact remained that they were both quivering. 

He could feel Wilson's small hands squeezing tightly about the forearm that wrapped around the thin waist. The scientist let out a quiet whine and whimpered into the man's palm. Max hushed him and tightened his grip on the others mouth. 

Their ears strained to listen. 

Then they heard it. 

That heavy and thunderous clop of a hoof in the distance. The ground shuddered below their feet and Wilson backed up into Maxwell, pushing into him harshly as though trying to be absorbed. Maxwell's heart pounded hard in his chest and he closed his eyes. Teeth gritted he held tighter to the inventor and prayed the titan wouldn't find them. 

Max could hardly see through the blizzard of snow all about them, but he could hear the deerclops as it thundered its way through the woods in search of them. They had run as fast as they could to find a hiding spot, but even still they were being hunted by the beast. 

Every clop of a hoof made Maxwell cringe and Wilson jump in his grip. The nerves were beginning to eat at Max's stomach and he felt as though he might vomit if any more stress was pushed onto him. 

One of Wilson's hands moved to grip the palm covering his mouth and he pulled it away. 

"Max, we need to light a fire soon. I can't feel my feet," his teeth chattered. 

"I know but I am not sure if-" 

From behind them came an earth jostling slam and they looked up through the branches to see the clops looming over them, a furious look in his singular eye. 

"RUN, HIGGSBURY!" 

Max released Wilson and they both bolted. The beast roared behind them and reared a large hoof up slamming it down hard to collapse the pine tree. 

Whether fate or dumb luck a second rumbling sounded and a treeguard rose from the ground. Its roots formed legs and its piney arms slashed at the deerclops, stunning the beast and giving the two men enough time to dive through the pines and away from the battle. 

Their feet carried them fast in a desperate sprint until they could no longer hear the clash of the giants brawl. They panted hard and shivered in the cold until they had regained themselves. It was only then that they looked about at their surroundings. 

They were in a clearing of the woods, on what turf they were unsure. The mid winter snow was far too deep to make out any grass or ground. But in the center of the clearing was a small base and Max and Wilson looked to each other with silent shock. 

"It's worth a try. I don't see anyone there," Max suggested. And Wilson, cold and eager for warmth, nodded his head and began to walk toward it. 

The front wall of the fort remained with a wooden door that splintered and hitched awkwardly, but all else seemed to have been destroyed. Golden cages lay mangled on the ground and it seemed that whatever crates the previous tenants had been keeping their items in had been destroyed. 

But most importantly there was a fire pit and relief flooded the both of them. Max dug through his bag to retrieve wood and he placed it in the pit with grass and twigs. Striking his flint he lit it and waited for the log to catch, then he sat and warmed his hands over it. 

Wilson seemed fixated on two machines in the fort, and he rubbed his hands over them with a fondness. They were crumbling but he could fix them and he set to that without a moments though. Max readied some morsels they'd happened by and ran them through with a stick to roast them over the flame. 

Once the machines had been fixed and dinner made Wilson dusted his hands and joined the other for dinner. Normally they would talk over dinner, but the hunger had become too much and both of them ate quickly and in silence. They were far too busy filling their stomachs to bother with conversation. 

They rested against the remaining front wall until the hours of dark came. They fueled the fire again and stirred it to keep it alight. Wilson rested against the wall and to keep his hands busy he fiddled with a red feather he had found in the snow. 

"What if they come back?" he questioned, and Max answered without ever removing his eyes from the flame. 

"They won't. Either they left or they died. Not sure what destroyed this place, but I will almost bet it was that deerclops from earlier." 

Wilson nodded his head and his brow furrowed in concern.

"Who do you think lived here? Me, or you?" 

"It wasn't me," Max said certainly. "It could have been you, but it was certainly none of the times we were together." 

"What?" 

Max felt his stomach flip. He'd said too much. 

"Nothing, get some rest." 

Wilson did not push the matter.


	11. Pride

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Wilson is bilingual.

Rolling his new thermal stone about in his hand Wilson watched Max repair the stone pillars around them. Maxwell had insisted upon reinforcing the walls even though the home was not permanent. They needed the protection for the time being and they could spare the materials at the moment. So Maxwell patched and reinforced them only breaking to breathe every now and again, because his age made him tired and now and again his old frozen joints needed a rest. 

Wilson poked the fire with a stick to stir it and he took seeds and morsels from his pouch. He warmed the butter and then covered the meat in it, rolled the meat in the seeds and then roasted all of it over the flame. Then he offered half of the meal to Maxwell, and saved the other for himself. They ate quietly for a time and then Wilson struck up conversation to avoid silence. 

"What is your longest run?" 

Maxwell looked at Higgsbury with a curious expression, because the past wasn't something they often talked about, but here they were and Wilson was curious. 

"A year and a half," he replied and Wilson tilted his head back and forth with an expression that let Maxwell know that was a reasonable run. "And you?" 

"Of what I can remember? Three years, approximately." 

Maxwell's jaw dropped and he looked not unlike a codfish, with his eyes dumb and his mouth wide. Wilson stared back at the other with a look of awkwardness before his lips cracked into a smile and he huffed a laugh. It was rather humorous to think that Maxwell was impressed with his record. 

"How?" Maxwell breathed with shock. He had helped form most of this world and not even he had survived so long with or without anyone to help him. 

Wilson laughed again and prodded the fire with his stick. His eyes examined the way the burning log cracked and the red in the creases flared when jabbed at. 

"I integrated myself into catcoon society." 

And again Maxwell was impressed and prompted the other on. The magician wished to know more. 

"I made a science experiment of it really. First I studied their behavior and I made notes on papyrus with a quill. I studied the way they played, and communicated. I studied what their diet was. Their different trills and meowls, which I practiced till it resembled theirs. And the difference between a play hiss and a combative hiss is very subtle, but nonetheless important to note. And you have to know how to treat the kits when they are born, and how to come together in a pride." 

"You speak fluent catcoon?" 

"Yes." 

"And they have prides?"

"It's rare but now and then, yes."

"So you hunted with them?" 

"And played with them, and ate with them, and made enemies of their enemies, and slept in a mass burrow. And I was once given the task of watching the kits. Mostly I was a hunter though. And when one of them would pass from whatever cause I would eat, there was no reason to waste any meat after all." 

"So what took you?" 

It was the forbidden question. No one particularly liked talking about how they had died. It was too easy then to let the pain back in. But Wilson cleared his throat and straightened his shoulders. Breathing slowly out through his nose he found his voice and spoke again. 

"That spring we had lost almost every kit that had been born. The weather was too hot to kill any ailments the catcoons were carrying and the kittykit's suffered because of that. Over half the parents passed from heart break over this," he paused and licked his lips. He cleared his throat then. "The winter was harsh and some of them didn't have coats thick enough to keep them from freezing during hibernation. And then the hounds came, and they wouldn't let up. Night after night they attacked the burrows. And then there was only four of us. And the other three didn't make it, and finally neither did I." 

The only thing to fill the silence was the crackling of the fire in the pit. Maxwell stared in sorrowful shock at the story and he looked back at the flame. He felt sort of numb. He hadn't expected Wilson to go to such lengths just to survive, and more over fail anyway. 

Failure was truly inevitable in this place, wasn't it? 

"What about you? You survived for a year. What is that story?" 

Maxwell found that it might be in bad tastes to tell Wilson about how he had raised a Vargling. About how he had trained it up to be the perfect attack dog, and how it was by his side till the very end. Vargs were something Wilson probably felt detest for, likely renewed after telling his story. 

"Oh, well it hardly seems as glamorous now that you've told your survivor story," he piped in dismissal. 

"Rightfully," Wilson said with a faux cockiness and stirred the fire once more. 

"Wilson?" 

"Yes, Max?" 

"Why don't you teach me how to communicate in catcoon?" 

Wilson laughed and nodded his head. 

"Yeah, okay."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter was not supposed to be posted today, but a friend of mine was having a sort of rough night. I know he was really looking forward to reading more, so this chapter was released early, just for him. I hope he enjoys it!


	12. Home perhaps.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> They want to make a home, things become heated.

They had survived off morsels from rabbits they had cornered and they brought them back to their new base to cook. They ate and while they couldn't be filled they did not starve either. The two became comfortable in the camp and they found themselves relaxed and cooperative. The fighting and bickering had all but ceased and their lives seemed for once stable. 

Finally when the weather began to warm, at that in between stage of hot and cold that was just right for getting work done, Maxwell set to hammering one of those old birdcages back into shape so that they might capture a feathered friend for eggs. Wilson inquired as to why the other was putting so much work into this new fixation, and Maxwell stopped his banging to look up at the other man. He breathed a deep breath and exhaled slowly.

"Well, I told you we would keep moving in the spring but, well, look at this place. It's wonderful here and it's done us good to be here through the winter. What do you say we just stay here? There's enough resources for food. We could even set up bee boxes for honey if we find enough materials. We could have it easy here." 

Wilson thought about this and looked to Max, rather shocked that the other was suggesting such a thing. They had been on the move for a long time before they had come to this little base. Now they'd been at the base so long it did almost feel like home. 

Sure the only thing they could read on the broken sign outside the door was the word "Wood", which certainly did not pertain to either of their names, thus indicating it was not, nor had it ever been their home. And whoever had lived here before had loved it deeply, one could tell from the work put into every structure. But even still this had begun to feel like their home and Wilson nodded his head in agreement. 

"You're right. We won't last out there. I think it is best if we stay here." 

Max allowed his lips to pull into a very gentle smile and he nodded his head. 

Wilson had become quite fond of the machines he had repaired. They buzzed and beeped pleasantly and made wonderful mechanical clanging and clanking when he used them to craft something. he found it all very scientific and he allowed himself to be ensnared in the seductive grasp of science. 

Using the machines he produced first an invention he liked to call an "icebox", and following he made a cauldron on legs which he called a 'crockpot', or 'cookpot' as Maxwell liked to call it. And with that Wilson whipped up some meatballs and Maxwell was once again impressed by the other, because it had been ages since he'd had refined foods such as that. 

Wilson made another cauldron then and he marched himself down to the ponds in the afternoon and fetched water for it. Then he heated the water with flower petals for scent and using torn cloth he and Maxwell scrubbed away the winters dirt. 

Then as spring does it shifted its temperature one again and the weather was cold for a series of days and night. And the two shivered, their teeth chattering while they looked at the fire and watched the flames flicker back and forth. 

"It's a little less cold when someone is with you," Maxwell whispered and Wilson's eyes shifted to look at the man. 

"Pardon?" 

"It's just when you're cold and alone you feel frozen. Not outwardly, just, inwardly. There's a warmth in one's old bones when they realize someone else knows the same pain..." 

Wilson listened to the voice trail off and he watched the flames a moment longer before he looked to Max and examined him. 

Max had a strong jaw, even for a man of his age. He wasn't bad looking, in fact he was quite attractive. In recent days he had been so kind to the scientist that Wilson almost wondered if he had ever really been as awful as he'd been brought to believe. 

"It is...awfully cold..." His sentences trailed. 

It had been a long time since he had been with anyone. His heart throbbed at the thought. Maxwell was almost charming like this. This kindness he had seemed to own since the two had found their common ground. To be with someone he truly found attractive was very tempting. 

"It is," Maxwell nodded. 

"It must be terribly cold for you," 

"What are you implying, Higgsbury?" 

The scientist did not answer, only looked at the other with an expression one might wear during a game of poker. 

"I suppose my skin is thinning, my old bones creak in this weather," the magician sighed, rubbing his hands together.

Wilson swallowed hard. He felt his bravery welling into his chest. He had to make his move now or he might never find it in him. 

"Allow me to warm you." 

Maxwell wasn't sure when it happened, but Wilson had mounted his lap. Warm but slightly chapped lips pressed against his, and he could feel the forming stubble above Wilson's upper lip gently scraping his skin. The magician, once shock had settled, gripped the scientist by the hips and pulled him to the wooden floor.

Heat ruled out the cold and the night was filled with frantic breaths. 

The two mingled with all the desperation of dying men. 

They did not stop till sleep could no longer be fought.


	13. Only a Dream

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Wilson couldn't have really done something so vile. It's only a dream? He can't stay, he just can't.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> WARNING: This chapter is full of Violence and Gore.

The tendons in Max's neck rolled beneath Wilson's palms. He could feel the tension in the jugular with each flexing attempt to breathe in. Each breath became weaker than the last. The heels of his hands pressed hard into the throat to cut off any air trying to pass through. With every hard thrust of his wrists toward the ground he could feel the jolt of Maxwell's skull hitting it. Finally the sick 'crunch' of magicians skull splitting filled the night.

He hadn't stopped, the wet plapping sound of blood splattering across the ground continued while Wilson went on to batter the body. Even though his face twisted in anger tears had begun to run down his cheeks, tears of frustration perhaps, nonetheless the scene continued for moments, minutes, after Max had initially stopped moving and it didn't stop until Wilson had expended the last of his energy.

He lifted from the man's lap with breathless huffs and stared at the body that lay before him. How many times had Maxwell done the same? Looked over Wilson's own body and stared at the work he'd done. Wilson was furious while he guestimated the number. Hundreds? Thousands? It wasn't as though he could keep count anymore.

After taking the throne he had found a list of obituaries. He was far too afraid to open it. He was certain he would be able to finally get an exact number. The truth was that over half of his lives he could hardly remember what had been the cause of his death, and he wasn't certain he could stomach his own failures in such abundance. So he never did touch it.

He looked to his hands, covered in the blood. He'd gotten some on them it had seemed, likely when he had went to stand, using the ground near Max's shapeless head to push up. He smeared his palms shakily over his black three piece suit and then looked to the lifeless corpse of Maxwell yet again.

He had just come down from his fit but rage was beginning to well up again.

"Good man, Higgsbury."

That had been what Max decided would be his last words? Really?

He could feel the anger in him bubbling up to the surface again. He didn't need Maxwell's approval. He didn't WANT Maxwell's approval. It was condescending. Even still it was so condescending, and Wilson hated it.

He drew his foot back and allowed it to fly, slamming it into the ribs of the corpse over and over again. Each time was harder than the last till he heard the bones crack and saw the side of the body cave in. Then the heel of his foot was brought down onto the sternum repeatedly until it too gave and dipped sickly in toward the spine and Wilson spat on the body and only then did he allow himself to breath.

After this he had entertained the idea of disposing of the body by cutting it to pieces, but this seemed far too impersonal to him as he took far more comfort in using his own hands and feet, and avoiding the informality of a blade.

With a very deep breath he hoisted the body up, though this was quite the task due to the dead weight, and he dragged it far from where the deed had been done. He continued to lug the body until he came to rest at a hound mound, about which three hungry canines prowled with slobbering maws and bared teeth. Their fur bristled at the sight of Wilson and he smiled.

"Eat up boys," he whispered and threw the cadaver to them with as much force he could muster. The hounds approached quickly but after smelling the body they seemed to turn their attention away, one even whimpering, as though they knew who it was that had been offered to them.

These were still Maxwell's hounds, it was true. Loyal to their creator he supposed. And so Wilson had no choice but to erase them from his board, and he spawned new hounds, thinner and hungrier than the last. And these hounds found no remorse in feasting upon the body and they pounced it with a voracity the likes of which Wilson had never before seen and they added the bones to their mound as a trophy. And Wilson was pleased with this.

With the task finished Wilson Percival Higgsbury returned to his new residence, a dreary but oddly comfortable castle and he cleaned his hands of the blood and gore, and then he returned to his throne room where he sat and mulled over what he'd done.

It was then his eyes saw the book of obituaries and he felt his hands tense, but he knew what had to be done. So with a deep and readying breath he opened it and passed quickly through it till he found a blank page and then he documented Maxwell's passing with extreme detail before closing it and setting it aside.

Then, from the corner of his eye he saw a woman peering into the throne room from behind a pillar. She was a beautiful woman, with a soft round face and a big curious eyes, and she looked at him as though she were unsure what to think.

He had been aware for quite a time that he was not alone in this castle and though he wished the gorgeous flower would make herself known to him she never did.

So he blinked at her and she blinked back and then she vanished in a mist of black as though she had never been there to begin with, and Wilson was seemingly left alone once again.

* * *

 

The scientist felt his eyes creak open and he felt the cool of the blue early morning against his skin. The whether would be far warmer today than it had been the day previous, and this he took as a blessing.

Yet, soon after he rose he found himself without clothing and he looked to Maxwell who was still sleeping next to him and his dream (only a dream? Right? It couldn't possibly be real, Wilson would never really do something so terrible) came flooding back to him. And every bit of anger he had toward Maxwell welled in him and he grit his teeth.

Whatever it was they had been doing, whatever it was he -for whatever reason- thought he could have with Maxwell wouldn't work out.

There was no way he could really allow himself to fall in love with such a disgusting man. He couldn't make a life with a person so vile and terrible.

Everything he had worked for, everything he had planned for - it was all for nothing because Maxwell had brought him here. He would never accomplish his task, because Maxwell had ruined everything!

Quietly Wilson removed himself from the sleeping grip of Maxwell and he gathered his clothes, dressing himself in his clothes and quickly piecing together a bag to carry supplies in. He had to leave before Maxwell woke and tried to stop him.

He couldn't afford an argument like that.


	14. An Eye for and Eye

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> They have issues they need to work out. Shots are fired.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning: Gore and Violence

Though the weather was warm and the temperature comfortable the morning seemed cold and dreary. Something was amiss from the moment Maxwell felt his body wake, and when he cracked his eyes open to look around the base he found exactly what it was that had been so odd. The lack of a certain gentleman seemed to scream in decibels so silently loud that Max felt his flesh break into goosebumps from the top of his neck down to his ankles. And though he wanted to believe that Wilson was out hunting frogs or gathering spider silk the supplies that should be in the base -but were not- spoke volumes, and he felt his heart crash into his stomach.

The magicians eyes stung with salted tears that threatened to fall and he scrunched his face and forcefully closed his eyes to fight them. He swallowed the forming lump in his throat and forced any sound from escaping him. He couldn't afford to cry over this, there wasn't time. And though his body fought with him to take time and mourn, he consciously tried to reason with himself that the best course of action would be to find Higgsbury. After all, one couldn't survive on their own in a place like this.

If he were being honest with himself he wanted to find Higgsbury so he could scream at him until he was hoarse and no longer furious, then beg the man to come back to the camp. It wasn't the most refined method, this was true, but he was only human after all. What more could he do to make the scientist realize his stupid mistake and come home?

Home.

Hadn't they just been speaking of making a permanent home for the both of them? Hadn't they been entertaining starting a life? Wasn't that what they'd worked all winter for? Did none of this actually matter to Wilson? Was he just playing Max?

Maxwell's sorrow boiled in him in the form of fury and he felt his teeth gritting. And though he was mad at Higgsbury he would be far more angry with himself if he let the man get away.

So with no further delay he crafted his own pack and filled it with items needed in case he should get into a pinch while he were out in those woods. It wasn't at all hard to find Higgsbury's trail as in these days the scientist had developed a terrible habit of dragging his feet.

He wondered to himself how far Wilson had really gone and how long it would take himself to catch up. Maxwell was old and he did not walk as fast as a young man like Wilson. But he forced his legs to move as fast as they could without running, causing the muscles to flex with aching tension. And he swore to himself he would really give Wilson a piece of his mind for making him go through this trouble.

Hours passed and the morning rolled into after noon, and the afternoon fell to dusk. Max had not allowed himself to rest for food or water hoping if he kept moving (and should Wilson stop to rest) it would put him closer to the scientist still. And finally the shadows of afternoon were staved off by the light of a campfire over which hunched a cat-haired man with his familiar red vest.

Wilson lifted his gaze from his fire and sighed at the sight of Maxwell standing before him as though he were irritated that Max had come after him. Though, if Maxwell thought about it, he probably was irritated. One normally doesn't leave in the middle of the night with the desire to be tracked down.

Dusting his hands Wilson stood and lifted his arms only to let them flop back to his sides in agitated silence.

"I didn't take you as the 'Love and Leave'em" type, Higgsbury."

Wilson bit the inside of of his cheek at the statement. It was true that it was not a very gentlemanly thing to do, to sleep with someone and then sneak away without so much as an explanation. But who in their right mind could blame him? Who could fault him for running away from this wicked man?

Wilson said nothing in response however, leaving a heavy silence that hung between them like a pendulum of tension. And the two stared sternly at each other. It was a moment -possibly more- before Maxwell realized the other man would not speak to him. Then he spoke again to save them from the quiet.

"You don't have an excuse. There is no reasonable explanations for your actions? Are you doing this to be petty with me?"

"Shut your mouth!"

Max did just this. Having not expected the other to take such a harsh tone with him his mouth clicked shut instantly. He stared wide eyed in shock that the other would take on such a tone. Even when Higgsbury was angry he had never yelled. Raised his voice perhaps, but never yelled.

"You ruined everything for me! You took me from the work I'd dedicated every ounce of my energy to! You tore me from my own reality! You've made it impossible to reach my goal! And for what? For what, Mister Carter? So you could play your sick game! So you could kill me over and over again for no reason other than sport! And my progress has suffered greatly for this, and I will never - ever - be able to finally reach the end of my task!"

Tears formed in Wilson's eyes, heavy and moist, and threatening to wet his cheeks. His teeth were grit so tightly one could see the tension in his jaw from its force. He heaved great strained breaths of anger and Maxwell flinched at the sight of it.

Wilson was terrifying like this.

Straightening himself to appear large he huffed a great breath and glared down at the inventor with a fire he hadn't stirred in himself since his days as the master.

"And you blame me for what I did?!" his voice rumbled from his chest. "As though you, the 'gentleman' scientist would not have done the same in the position I was in? You're a riot Higgsbury, a real riot!"

And Wilson flinched and his shoulders drew in, his breath hitched and he looked away from the magician a moment. This was when it dawned on Maxwell that Wilson was just as afraid of him, and he felt sorry for but a moment before straightening himself again to stand his ground. He waited for the next excuse.

Wilson ground his teeth against each other, stumbled slightly back and rested his stance. With a tired laugh he shook his head and ran a hand through his hair. His brown eyes usually alight with amber specks and golden flakes were dull, dark and serious.

He thought of his dream. He could never really be so cruel.

"No, I wouldn't have. I wouldn't have mindlessly hurt people. I wouldn't have made a deal with someone and then never made good on it! And lets not even talk about tricking them into what could only be Hell!"

And for the first time since they had been traveling together Max realized that Wilson had no recollection of his rule. The night Maxwell was choked to death by a crazed Percival did not exist for Wilson. It was as though it never happened. And Maxwell choked on his next words unsure how to react.

One thing was certain however, and that was that Maxwell was far from done being angry and while he could not hold Wilson accountable for something he didn't remember, he could hold him accountable for false accusation.

"You think I didn't make good on my promise? What was it you wanted, Higgsbury? Knowledge? That's right! And I gave you that. I gave it to you in such abundance that it would drive most men insane!"

Wilson stared dumbfounded at the other, a loathing disbelief flaring behind his eyes.

"I wanted knowledge to find my- "

A terrible howl cut through the night, stopping their argument instantly as dread settled into their stomachs. The sounds of paws scraping the forest floor caused both of them to become deathly silent.

Quickly Wilson grabbed a spear he had snatched from the base and he armed himself with it. Max dropped to the ground and began quickly rummaging through his bags. He had packed darts should an attack of any kind happen, but in the dim lighting they were hard for him to find.

The slobbering beasts bound from seemingly out of nowhere, leaping first for Wilson who slashed and jabbed with his spear, trying to strike at just the right moment to land a killing blow.

The panic that Maxwell found himself filled with brought a shiver to his old bones. Now unable to see what he was looking for and shivering like a leaf the task seemed impossible.

One hound down.

Two.

Three.

The spear snapped in half as it entered the body of the third hound, leaving a fourth still able and unharmed. There was a moment in time the world seemed frozen. Max registered only the hound in the air and Wilson's face twisted in a terrified scream. It was then he felt his hands grasp onto his darts and relief flooded him.

The hounds large body covered Wilson completely, but Still Maxwell could see the struggle beneath it. Quickly the darts were brought to his mouth and he blew into the straw.

Wilson kicked the hound from himself, his heel landing against its ribs. The animal bolted.

The track of the dart meant for the hound made its mark in unintended flesh as it pierced the eye socket of the scientist and Maxwell watched in horror as the red feather backing ignited - flames illuminated the agonized face Wilson wore as he screamed loudly up to the sky.

His hands clawed at his face in a fruitless attempt remove the flaming projectile from his socket.

Max was frozen in shock.

Fear and guilt rushed through his veins.


	15. Ocular

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> WARNING: Extreme gore ahead.

Agonized screams filled the dusk air with ear splitting volumes. The sound was grating, piercing to the eardrums, and it made them throb with its sharpness. The cries of pain were so tormented it chilled through the bones and into the soul. The thrashing man on the ground writhed and kicked, and even once the flames were out he clawed and scraped at the dart that was still lodged into his right socket and severing his optic nerves. His body had begun to convulse with the shock of pain.

Someone had approached next to him but in his confusion he had no idea who. He panicked and whipped his head this way and that trying to make some sense of his situation. Nothing made sense, nothing was clear.

"Higgsbury, great Maskelyne!"

Wilson knew that voice. Where did he know that voice? Maxwell? Maxwell!

"GET AWAY FROM ME!"

"My god, Man!"

He felt hands on him and his legs jerked up to try and kick at the man next to him. He felt a hard shove to his leg and growled from low in his throat. Keeping his right hand cupped over his eye he used the free left to try and claw at the man, his fingers curled in he tried desperately to catch a nose or cheek with his nails. Max reached across him and pinned his arm down.

Too confused to fully comprehend what was going on he registered only a few things. His abdomen was being weighed down, his let arm was being pinned, and Max's voice seemed to come from above him now.

"We have to get it out of your eye, don't you understand?"

His breaths were panicked and he screamed as angrily as he could through his pain.

"I don't WANT your help! I don't...a-ack..."

Wilson felt something sharp and long enter his ribs and his left eye roll back into his skull.

Then...

...Nothing.

The mess of red and black scorched flesh stared up at Maxwell in horrific gruesomeness that condemned him for having done this. He felt sick to his stomach, his chest ached and he lifted himself from Wilson's body and stumbled to a tree to support his quivering old bones. He gagged, coughed, gagged again, and finally retched a frothy burning and slimy bile into the grass.

He spat and coughed for a time before catching his breath. Shakily he returned to look at Wilson.

The chest moved up and down slowly, his breathing steady and his mind at ease in the effects of the sleeping dart in his side. And Maxwell was relieved to see him calm and no longer fighting.

"Alright Pal, let me...let me get this fire started. Don't want Cha..."

He couldn't bring himself to say it. He'd been denying it for so long, hoping she was still out there in the shadows. But whatever bit of Charlie kept the shadows at bay had gone, and they were left to the mercy of THEM.

"Don't want Grue to get us while I'm trying to fix you up."

Maxwell Stirred the embers of the now dying fire and set a little more kindling upon it to keep it alight. He then returned to Wilson's side and lowered his aching body till he was sitting and he dusted his hands, breathing heavily while he looked over the damage done.

The burns had roasted the lid of Wilson's right eye to a charred back mess and around his temple was crusted black and sticky red. Out of the mutilated orb stuck the dart, protruding and grossly bobbing with every twitch of Wilson's cheek. Max ran his hands through his hair and sighed tiredly. How could he of let this happen?

Rubbing his own cheeks hard he mentally prepared himself to complete his new task. He rolled his sleeves up so they might not get filthy, and he pulled his bag close to himself so he had bandages and disinfectant in reach.

Shakily his fingers wrapped around the tough barrel. A twitch from Wilson's brow made it pulse and Max gasped, pulling his hand quickly away. His palms were quaking and sweating hotly. He rubbed them on his pants and took another deep breath.

Steady once more he placed one hand over Wilson's forehead to keep it steady he gripped the barrel between the pointer and thumb of the apposing hand. He tried his best not to think about the pulsing as he began to pull upward on the dart. He could feel the tension and the creaking sound of the orb slowly coming out with every tug of the dart and he couldn't he had to stop.

The grim reality of his situation kicked in and he curled in on himself, pleading into his knees for it all to be some terrible fever dream. Wilson was already angry with him, Wilson already hated him. He understood it was for good reason, he accepted he had been abusive and cruel in the past. But what would Wilson think of him now?

He lifted his head up, cleared his throat and curled his knees under himself. He could do this. It didn't matter how Higgsbury reacted, it didn't matter how angry he would be with him or how much he would hate him. What mattered was saving Wilson's life.

He leaned over him, readied his hands again, and he gave a quick hard tug.

_Schhhhhhhlunk!_

_POP!_

As he had feared the eye popped out of Higgsbury's skull, still attached to the end of the fire dart that had fried his flesh to the point. Max made a loud noise of distress and dropped the projectile. The dart and the eye - still attached into the scientists head by several strands of muscle - fell onto Wilson's chest and blood began to run and fill up the hole where his eye once was.

"Shit!" Max breathed, his airways shuttering with the wracking of his nerves. His whole body was shaking now. He had all but forgotten about the muscles.

Swallowing thickly he tried to think fast. Jack. Jack had taught him about the inner workings of the eyeball years ago. But he tried to remember the words now. He examined the mess and tried to process what precisely he was looking at.

Superior oblique.

Superior Rectus.

Lateral Rectus.

Somewhere in there was the Medial Rectus.

Inferior Rectus.

Lastly the Inferior oblique.

Max swallowed and nodded to himself, he could do this. This wasn't about him, this was about getting a job done. This was about saving Wilson.

Retrieving a straight razor from his bag he tried to steady his body as much as possible. He looked at the eye on Wilson's chest with dread. Slowly he took it into his hand again and rounded his wrist till the muscles were wrapped about his pointer and middle finger, he tugged gently until the stringy meats were pulled tight. With the razor he pressed the blade against the strings and tried not to think about how easily it severed the eyeball from Higgsbury's socket forever.

He sat shaking, his hands covered in blood, Wilson's beautiful amber eye gripped in his palm, and staring into the pool of bloody black where Wilson's right eye used to be.


	16. Boiling Point

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Wilson is ungrateful. Max has reached the end of his line.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning: Very strong language

Max had kept a close watch on Wilson long after the sun had fully set. The dark of the night was only fought off by the fire which burned to keep them safe. Twice Maxwell had risen from his spot next to Wilson to chase off the gnarled fingers of Grue's hands, which tried to snuff the flames that kept them alive. Both times he had quickly returned to Higgsbury's side and promptly checked on him. 

His forehead had been hot as coals and sweating for the better half of the last few hours. He was running a high fever and he twitched fitfully. 

"Winnie, I'm sorry," he would say, "Winston, where are you? Come home." 

And he choked the words out dryly, and Max waited with the canteen of water ready for when Wilson woke. It seemed like time moved at a snails pace when a life was on the line. Max held the canteen tightly, hoping - praying - the wound and fever would not take Wilson in his sleep.

Even when the bleeding in Wilson's eye slowed it did not fully stop, and the blood that dripped down the side of his temple Max cleaned up with a torn piece of cloth. And when Max would touch him Wilson would grow more fitful in his rest until the magician ceased, and then his body would relax and he'd breath with as much easiness as his worn body would let him. 

Eventually Maxwell was beginning to struggle with keeping his eyes open, sleep threatening him. His head fell to his shoulder and then he slowly eased to the dirty ground. And he slept lighter than he ever had before, and more restless than he'd ever been in his life. 

A cry of pain echoed through the night, laced with fear and a heavy layer of denial. Maxwell bolted upright and his body acted more on reflex then consciousness, for he leaped - as well as his old bones could leap - onto his feet and grabbed a twig with which to stir the embers of the fire and keep it burning. Only after this did memory serve him and he fell to his hands and knees and crawled as quick as he might to Wilson's side. 

A screaming, hysterical, writhing Wilson. And before Max could make any attempt to comfort the scientist the man was on his knees and then wobbling on his feet. He screamed louder and louder, his fingers pushed into the bloody socket, feeling for what should be there but was not. 

He shook so hard that Maxwell thought he might convulse. 

"WHAT HAVE YOU DONE," he cried to the ground. "WHAT HAVE YOU DONE TO ME?!" 

Max watched in horror as Wilson's fingers pressed into the hole in his head and twitched and wiggled inside it, opening the bits that had clotted and causing it to bleed more. The digging inside the opening grew only more frantic as though it might bring the ocular back. 

"Wilson, stop!" 

The magician was off the ground, his hands around Wilson's wrists in a desperate attempt to pull the scientists hands from his eyes. 

"If you keep opening it you'll get it infected!" 

Wilson paused at this, only for a moment, and he looked at Max through his singular eye. An angered look that he forced through the pain, and he gave a hard shove to Maxwell's ribs to make the man stumble back and away. 

"Don't you touch me! Don't you even fucking touch me!" He cupped his hand over the missing eye, no longer digging in it but laying his palm flat against the nothing. His other hand balled into a tensed fist that trembled at his side. "You keep your hands off me you piece of shit!" 

Max blinked in shock, his jaw slack with disbelief. It wasn't as though the scientist had never yelled at him before, but this was a side of Wilson's anger he had not been subjected to previously. He wasn't certain he was okay with being cursed at so viciously, and the names were a bit cruel weren't they? 

How did this man even have the energy in him to continue arguing? After the removal of his eye? One would have thought Wilson would have been far to tired, or in too much pain to start another dispute. This however, was not the case. And Maxwell Carter could feel his temper becoming short with Mr. Higgsbury. 

"How dare you? I saved your life!" 

"You blinded me!" 

Maxwell's teeth clicked together as his mouth clamped shut. His eyes were wide and he felt a headache forming behind them. How dare this man? How dare he? Maxwell had spent half the night paralyzed with fear that Wilson might croak, and now that Higgsbury was awake all he could do was scream? Was Wilson so blind to Maxwell's feelings? Did Wilson really hate him so much? 

Whatever the reason for this Max could feel anger beginning to bubble in his chest. 

"I misfired a dart!" 

"You knocked me out!" 

"I sedated you so you wouldn't hurt yourself further in your careless fit throwing!" 

"You drugged me!?" 

"You can't be serious right now?!" 

They stood there breathing heavily, glaring at each other. The vein near Wilson's temple puffed with stress and the muscles in Maxwell's jaw twitched. Both stood shaking angrily in their fury until Finally Wilson spoke again. 

"All of this... ALL OF THIS BULLSHIT BECAUSE I DIDN'T WANT TO FUCKING SLEEP WITH YOU!?" 

"Because you left without a single fucking word, Higgsbury! That's why! Because I went to bed thinking maybe you'd be there once I woke up! And I woke up and you were just gone, didn't you ever stop to think about how that might hurt me?!" 

"Hurt you? HURT YOU!?" Wilson's teeth were clenching so hard his jaw was aching. "After all the times you've hurt me? Killed me? You think I care that your feelings were hurt?! You literally caused this whole mess," he spat, gesturing to the cavern where his eye should be, "because you couldn't accept that I wouldn't come 'home'!" 

Maxwell's fists balled and he swallowed hard. A pricking feeling began to sting the edge of his eyes. Tears? He fought them back. 

"Well there is no home now! We can't even stay here! It's too close to hounds, so good for you Higgsbury you won! But the fact remains we can't survive on our own out here, so you'd better suck it up! Because you're stuck with me until I find someone else who's more willing to watch my back!" 

"...That's what I thought." 

Oh. OH! Max could not believe the nerve of this man. If he wanted Maxwell to be the bad guy, then Maxwell could certainly be the bad guy. Even still, he could see that the message had gotten through to Higgsbury. 

Wilson said nothing more but prodded with his fingers around his missing ocular. Max hissed through his teeth and gripped the underside of his vest, tearing it quickly. He then - with all the harshness he could manage - tossed the strip of cloth to the scientist. 

"Now cover that disgusting hole in your fucking face before you get an infection and croak. We need to find another place to set up camp."


	17. Knowledge to Find My - (Part 1)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Maxwell remembers.

This, whatever it was, could not be considered cooperation. Not only had Wilson begun his insistent silent treatment again, but Maxwell had even joined in on the childish quiet. What little interaction they did have was in the form of accusing glares whenever they had to catch each others eye, each trying to burn holes into the other with their stare. Neither of them succeeded of course, but this did not stop them both from trying. 

They no longer hunted or scavenged together. What food each man gathered was his and his alone, and what wood he cut was his to start a fire on which to cook. They stayed close at night only to take shifts in keeping the shadows away from the fires, and stirring the embers to ensure they would not die. 

That was before Wilson had made a very terrible mistake. 

One night while Maxwell lie sleeping - when it was Wilson's turn to take guard - something in Wilson must have snapped. For it was that Wilson had found a spare piece of wood with which he had tried to use to bludgeon Max. Maxwell had Woken to the throbbing in his head and Wilson had stared back silently, but red - as though he had expected Maxwell to stay unconscious - and embarrassed he slowly set the thing back down without so much as breaking eye contact. 

The next morning Maxwell had grabbed one of the sleeves of Wilson's shirt, tearing it and continuing to do so till it was a long strand of cloth, then he used it to bandage his split forehead. 

After that neither of them got much sleep, too on edge to trust the apposing companion.

The two trudged through the thickness of forest. Maxwell had just dipped his cloth in a pond as they had passed and re-wrapped his wounds, both to keep himself cool and clean some of the blood away - for the wound still split quite often. Wilson's own eye patch was stained red, but the wound no longer bled so long as it was let be. 

Summer was coming and the heat was making angry blood boil hotter. Though words were not exchanged their glances of frustration became more frequent and Max could tell that it was taking a toll on Wilson's mind. The shimmering amber eye that remained was now reddened with murderous intent, the unkempt beard the scientist wore only made his appearance that much more terrifying. 

Max did not allow Wilson to see his nervousness. 

Yes even the early morning was hot and sticky, and Wilson gripped at his clothes -sweat soaked and torn - to pull them away from his body so they might not stick. When he wasn't entertaining a thousand ways in which he could kill the magician he was looking to the ground. 

By chance he happened to look up and see Maxwell had stopped walking suddenly. The once-king had his hand rested on a large stone wall that seemed to go on forever. It towered over them, and neither could see what was on the other side. 

"What is this?" Maxwell hummed in thought while he trailed the wall, following it. For the life of him he had never seen such a structure like this before. It looked almost like a building. "It's made of stone." 

Wilson did not reply. This was not only because he did not desire to speak with Maxwell in the least, but because he was unsure of what precisely he should say. Whoever had built this had done it with a lot of care, for the walls - though stone - were smooth as could be and seemingly impossible to break down with a mere ax or pick. 

As they rounded the corner of the structure they were greeted with yet more wall, and so Wilson thought it safe to assume this structure had four of them. The continued the path till they came to a set of large doors that stood sturdy and defiant of the outside world. 

"What in the name of Houdini..." Maxwell breathed. 

The doors were birch and on them were knockers that were obviously carved by hand. Wilson looked to Maxwell, Maxwell to Wilson. They stared in awe at the walls and doors that made them feel so very tiny, and finally Wilson stepped forward to try the knockers. The sound echoed into the forest and goosebumps rose on his arms. 

They listened to the sound of nothing. 

"Do you think pigs made this?" Wilson inquired. 

"Hardly," Maxwell grunted back. "I never made pigs so intelligent." 

For a moment the scientist feared that no one may come, but the faint sound of footsteps could finally be heard, echoing over the top of the walls. Whatever this thing was it could be confirmed it had no roof. 

There was a scraping sound that he could guess was a latch being lifted and then the doors opened to reveal a large courtyard and several cabins lined along it. The two that stood there was an elder woman, and Wilson had no clue who she was. But the second girl, the second girl he recognized and his jaw dropped. 

Her pale eyes stared back at him and she paused a moment in shock. Max's expression had turned to confusion, but Wilson was paying no mind to this. 

"Wilson!" 

"Cousin Willow..." 

Maxwell's brow furrowed more at this. 

And then, as though the situation was not strange enough a small fuzzy creature stepped out from behind the elderly woman. This creature who Maxwell knew as Webber. Its multiple eyes blinked at Wilson and Wilson stumbled back in shock at the sight of it, for Wilson detested spiders among all other beasts. The creature's eyes widened and it breathed in with a nasally sound, and it's fanged mouth pulled wide across its face and into an almost childlike smile.

"Da!?" 

And Wilson's heart throbbed hard because he recognized that voice. How could he ever forget such a sweet voice! And his heart panged with disbelief. He began to cry and dropped to his knees, opening his arms to the boy who ran into them and pressed his face into Wilson's chest. 

"Winston, what has happened to you?" And he wept, the tears streaming endlessly. "I had looked everywhere for you! What has become of my sweet..." 

As though a realization had struck him Higgsbury had stopped speaking, and lifting the child from the ground he turned on Maxwell, his face twisted with more anger than Max had ever seen in all his years. If looks could kill. 

"Why is he in a spider? You did this to him! You did this! This is your fault!" 

Then - suddenly - Maxwell remembered the deal he had made with Wilson.


	18. Knowledge to Find My - (Part 2)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Memories brought to light.

The tickety tack sound of fingers striking the keys of a typewriter were the only noise that was ever heard from the little house in the woods these days. It had once been filled with the sounds of animals screeching in pain while the scientist who resided there subjected them to cruel experiments. In the past Doctor Higgsbury had been quite a busy man, and his wife -Winnie- had been right by his side to aid him in his research. A smart woman was she, one with more brains than Wilson had seen even in the likes of learned of men. This was what had made the, now doctor - then student , fall in love with the girl. She kept him on his toes and there was something endearing about the way she would correct him without a care that their school mates had been watching.

Most men might find it out of place for a woman to speak up so confidently against the man she was going with. But Winifred Potts was a modern woman, one who didn't at all agree with outdated social structures, and she was certain to make such beliefs known. Unlike most men, Wilson only found this to be an irresistibly attractive trait. There was no doubt in the scientist's mind that this was the woman he wanted to spend the rest of his life with.

It was not long after the birth of their son that a job opportunity had opened up for the both of them in America. The two had moved without a seconds thought, for Winston was not yet in school and it would be much better for him to start there, than to uproot him after he'd already begun forming social bonds. So the small family sailed over to their new home in New England.

The family had been placed firstly in a complex, and had started work right away. A scheduled splitting of responsibility between the both of them kept their lives stress free and wonderful. While Wilson worked in the study Winnie would watch Winston and the two would switch these roles every other day to ensure they were never too overloaded with their given work. It was an unfortunate outcome however, that the neighbors often complained to their landlord that the cries of the animals were disturbing them into late hours.

The three were relocated from the complex into a somewhat lopsided house in the woods where no one would be disturbed by the screeching from the rats and birds. It was unfortunate that the town was so far away that keeping some fresh foods in the house posed a problem. Wilson and Winnie did not let this put a damper on their work however. Wilson had grown up on a goat farm, and Winifred had been raised by a poultry butcher. And with their funds they bought a healthy goat for milk and chickens for fresh eggs.

And so years were passed in the house and it saw Winston grow into a young lad with a love of nature and an interest in astrology. The boy was curious and Wilson and Winnie had to remind him from time to time that he mustn't play in the study, for fear he might be hurt. But all over Winston was a well behaved child who loved spending time with both his mother and father.

Life seemed perfect.

But, as Wilson would come to learn, anything perfect is far too good to be true. And it was a windy autumn day that saw Winifred ill with Tuberculosis. Nearing the end of the ailments course she was housed in the best hospital that Wilson could afford for her and passed three weeks after, documented shortly after two in the morning.

Wilson's work was shelved and overcome with loss he stowed away in his bedroom, leaving only to do what he must to support their son. His days, once filled with fevered work and much appreciated family time, were now overcome by his inability to stay awake. Being awake meant facing it all. Being awake meant knowing she wouldn't be there when his eyes peaked open. Being awake meant he would have to live knowing that his son would never again get to hug his mother, that he would grow up without. At least when Wilson was dreaming his visions were filled with red hair and freckled cheeks.

And then one day he couldn't hear any noise coming from the other rooms of the house. He couldn't hear the soft mumble of Winston speaking to himself, or the hum of the radio playing to keep the boy entertained. Wilson pulled himself from the bed and he began to search about his house. With no sight of his son in any of the rooms he turned to the chicken coup and goat pen and still no sign of his boy. Into the woods he had run screaming out for his child but no answer was returned, and panicked he had rushed into town to gather a search party.

The search went on for but a week and a half and each time more and more had given up hope until only Wilson was left with his only drive being desperation. And eventually even his light began to dwindle. But Wilson was a man of science, and when humans could not find an answer they must turn to studies to reach an outcome.

Months he worked on a machine or device that could help him find Winston. He hardly ate and he hardly slept, and his mind was boggled down with frustration and pain.

Wilson stopped his typing and leaned back in his seat with a heavy groan. It did not seem to matter how hard or long he worked. He had accumulated stacks upon stacks of useless research that had all failed, and he didn't feel he was any closer to a solution. He pushed his chair back and slumped over to the recliner in his study.

All he wanted was the knowledge he needed to find his son. Nothing was working.

He flopped into the chair and slid into a strenuous position in the seat. Then, with a thundering static sound that made him jump, the radio buzzed to life.

_**"SAY PAL..."** _


	19. Arguments and Agreements

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> To stay safe they must make sacrifices.

The sharp slapping sound of fists meeting face echoed above the sound of Wilson cheering on the man who had jumped on Maxwell. The thin fellow with his mime-like face hit viciously hard for someone of his structure and it was clear that his punches were fueled by a festering hatred of Maxwell, one that Wilson found himself sharing even more now that answers to long standing questions had been brought to light.

Wilson found himself cheering the man on, even when a much larger man stepped in to yank the mime off of Max. Why, he had even argued with the large Russian brute to release the noodle limbed male so that he could continue striking the former shadow king. And as soon as he thought he'd lost the argument yet another man leaped into the fray, this one with much more muscle than the previous, and he unleashed a torrent of punches into Maxwell's cheekbones and mouth, managing to split the lip of the magician before a thin elderly woman yanked him away - albeit with some difficulty.

"That is quite enough!"

The elderly woman's scream was enough to silence the lot of them, mouths clicked shut and movement ceased. They stared in shock at the older woman and she adjusted the glasses along the bridge of her sharp nose. Her glare bore into them, making everyone's hairs stand on end.

"You should be ashamed of yourselves, fighting like this in front of the children. What example is this setting for them?"

Though she had a point Wilson still found himself glaring silently at the magician and his split lip. He couldn't help but think to himself that the other deserved it.

"I know that he's wronged us, all of us, but it's no excuse to turn into savages," The old woman stated, dusting her hands on her skirt. "We will work this out like adults, and nothing less. Children, please turn in for now, and don't come out of your cabin until I tell you. The rest of you meet me at the fire pit."

With that she turned decidedly on her heal and marched off, leaving them all speechless.

The children turned to head to their cabin, all except Winston, the spindly spider legs on his head twitching and a worried look upon his face. Wilson stopped his glaring at Max long enough to give a reassuring smile to the boy.

"Go on now, don't you worry. I'm not going anywhere, I just have to speak with the other adults for a while, okay?"

The boy nodded and then he was off, joining the other children.

It was Willow who stepped up, pulling a cloth from a satchel that hung at her side, and she tossed it at Maxwell with a force that held no bit of kindness.

"Clean yourself up and then get to the pit, before Wicker blows a fuse," she demanded, then tuning to Wilson she placed a hand on his back to guide him to the location. "Sorry you had to come to this place under such heated circumstances. Usually it's a lot quieter."

Wilson certainly hoped that was true, though he had resolved every bit of that bout was well deserved on Maxwell's part.

* * *

 

"If you're going to stay here you're going to have to learn that things are operated under my instruction," the old woman said sternly. Wilson felt almost nervous in her presence for she seemed like quite the hard headed woman, strict and calculated. He recalled his grandmother being the same way. "My rules are simple, do not fight, do not scream, and do not hit. You will be pitching in to help our little community, and if you can not get along with another member then you will kindly shut your mouth and keep it to yourself."

Her eyes immediately darted between Wilson, the mime, and the lumberjack who had seemed to cause the most trouble thus far. The three of them shied back at the accusing glance. But eventually her gaze settled on Maxwell, who seemed shocked a moment before furrowing his brow with displeasure.

Wilson found his lack of comfort rather hilarious, though he kept his humor to himself while the woman continued to speak.

"Now it seemed Maxwell knows everyone here, and everyone knows him, but who might you be?" Her gaze had turned to Wilson who lifted up and straightened the patch over his eye.

"Wilson," he stated, clearing his throat shortly after.

"You seem awful close with Webber," the redheaded man piped up.

"Webber?"

"The spider kid, eh? Seem like yah know him?"

"He's my son..." Wilson found himself trailing off at the statement.

"Wolfgang has heard of many types of relationships, but one between a man and spider is still strange to him," the large Russian rumbled. Maxwell howled with laughter at this statement and Wilson glared harshly in his direction.

"He isn't a spider, he's just...inside a spider. And it's all Carter's fault!" Max stopped his laughing to return the glare.

"It isn't as though I shoved him into a spider! That spider ate him of its own free will!"

Wilson was seconds from jumping the man when the old lady piped up again.

"Enough! What did I say about getting along! If you want to stay here you will both be civil."

The both of them were quiet and biting their tongues now. Playing nice was their only chance at staying here, and staring here gave them a better chance of surviving.

Introductions were had between Wilson and the other residence of the hideaway, and then sleeping arrangements were made. Though with a bit of difficulty, as Wilson refused to share a living quarter with Maxwell even for a short period of time. Wickerbottom was currently sharing a cabin with the children, and Wilson had stated he did not mind sharing a bed with his son while more suitable living arrangements were made.

So it was settled that Maxwell would take the cabin the lumberjack and mime had previously occupied, and Wilson would stay with Winston to keep the peace.

Whatever hopes of finally meeting halfway either of them had before were now smothered. It seemed they were doomed to forever be at each other's throats.


End file.
